


The Return of Caelan

by terryreviews



Category: Laws of Attraction (2004), Nan's Christmas Carol (2009)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Rating May Change, Sexual Humor, Some Humor, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terryreviews/pseuds/terryreviews
Summary: Caelan did say that he would return to see Thorne around Christmas time.Sequel to: Caelan-https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929359
Relationships: Thorne Jamison/Ghost of Christmas Present
Comments: 20
Kudos: 8





	1. What's Cooking?

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the beginning of a sequel I wasn't sure I was going to write. It isn't going to be super long (I hope) but I am looking forward to writing it.

He groaned in relief as the recliner’s padded leather absorbed him.

In the spirit of the holiday he decided to be classy and swirled his wine in a glass rather than take swigs out of a bottle.

Alone in one of the living rooms (parlors? There were so many damn rooms he could never remember what all of them were suppose to be called) the tv was on but he couldn’t say what was playing. An action flick or something. Near the beginning.

All he knew was that he was tired, sore, and bored.

He and his band _could_ have been doing holiday gigs but between them wanting to see their families and Thorne’s lethargy, nothing was booked until New Year’s. Jim, one of the more genuinely kind members of the band, invited him to tag along with him and visit his family for the holidays. Thorne declined. He knew Jim was offering only to be nice and really hoped he’d say no, but still, nice to offer. He’d have let him go. But Thorne doubted very much Jim’s family would appreciate his particular festivities.

That’s where he was now, celebrating. A bottle of wine and zoning out in his chair. The staff were all sent home.

Christmas Even all to himself. Tomorrow all to himself too.

It was still early yet, only about nine. He got through about half the bottle when boredom lulled him to sleep.

He yelled and jolted straight up in his chair, heart racing as a tremendous boom forced him conscious, a sharp shattering sound furthering his fright. He looked around with bleary eyes for the source.

On the tv people were running away from a fire ball. A movie explosion. That’s what woke him up. He glanced over the side of the chair. The wine glass lay in pieces next to it.

“Fuck.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face and tossed his head back into the cushion. He was the only one here. He could leave a broken glass on the floor until morning. Then again, if he forgot it was there, could easily step in it. Create a situation.

He growled and pulled the lever to let his legs down. 

With a yawn he looked towards the rest of the house beyond the door way. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lights figuring he’d only be in this one room anyway so waht was the point. Now, he was regretting it as he shuffled into the hallway and it was damn near pitch black.

“Great,” he groused. He had no idea where any of the cleaning supplies were. Brooms, mops, and so forth, he never had to touch them. Not for years. That’s what he hired staff for. But, if he had to guess where he could find at least _something_ , it would be in the kitchen.

He slowly became more awake as he moved around, navigating the dark as best as he could (stubbing his toe on the leg of an ornate chair and having to hold it for at least two minutes while cursing) to get to the kitchen. At the back of the castle.

He’d been there. Of course he had. Midnight snack runs and such. Reminded him of when he and his band were first starting out and shacking all of them up in one room and then sending someone out to raid the vending machines at the end of the hall. He’d done it often enough.

One in the main foyer, the light came in through the windows from the sliver of moon outside and he was able to stumble into one of the decorate chest of drawers and turn on the lamp on top of it. Should have done that earlier. 

“Okay...” he looked down one of the halls that led to the back rooms, now able to actually see it (though dim as the lamp light was). Thank fuck he was downstairs and not upstairs. Walking half asleep, in the dark, down the stairs, liable to break his neck.

He marched down the hall, lolling his head with frustration. He loved his castle but fuck was it a pain in the ass to get anywhere with how big it was. He should find his scooter. Why he bought the thing in the first place and he put it somewhere and never could find it.

The kitchen was behind a heavy door and down a small plain wood stair case. He remembered vaguely when he was being shown the castle that this was due to having servant areas hidden off and such. With a heft, he opened the door and was getting ready to head down the stairs when he noticed that the kitchen light was on. 

And the sound of rattling packages and clinks of glass and plastic being shifted met his ears.

Thorne covered his mouth to keep from making a very undignified screech and held his breath as until he was calmed down enough to control himself. Not that his heart wasn’t beating a million miles a minute and nearly drowned out all other sound, or that his knees hadn’t started to shake, but he was forcing himself to breath and not make a sound.

He heard a loud metal clank ring out and a Scottish accented, “shit, why they put the pans on this thing? Why?”

Then, he heard the click of the stove and more rustling and then...sizzling.

Almost immediately his fear drained away and was replaced with a confusing mix of bafflement and anger. Someone broke into his house...to cook something.


	2. Another Ruined Entrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reference to something else that Tennant as done. I wonder if eagle eyed peeps will catch it and be delighted ^^
> 
> But yeah, this was a fun chapter to write.
> 
> I sincerely hope that I didn't make Thorne come across as too cowardly. I really tried to get into his head and explore what it would be like to be in this situation and how one might think about it.

From his vantage point, he couldn't see the intruder. He could hear him. Hear the shuffle of his feet, the sizzle of the food in the pan, and his voice. He was singing.

A bouncy, folksy thing in a language he didn't recognize. It was pretty. The voice was untrained, easy going, enthusiastic, and captivated him for a few moments before he remembered that, decent singing voice or no, there was a stranger in his kitchen.

He looked around for anything to defend himself with. Nothing. In the stairway Thorne only had his fists. He was strong, he'd been in plenty of fights before. Still, he'd left the door open at the top. If he were careful, he could slip back up the stairs, get to a phone. No need to panic.

He lifted one foot, preparing to step backwards when he heard a click, muffled shifting sounds, and then light, rapidly approaching, footsteps.

Frozen to the spot, Thorne had to make a choice. He raised his fists and thought _just like a bar fight_ and braced.

At the bottom, the shadow of the person filled the door, expanded on the wall as they drew closer, closer, and then....

"AH!" The man flailed and dropped the plate he was carrying with a heavy glass thunk and shatter as he fell backwards into the kitchen.

Over his own heart and ragged breath, he could hear what he assumed were swears in that pretty language. At seeing his possible assassin fall back like that almost all of his fear drained away. Still, with caution, he made his way down.

In the doorway, between the stair landing and the kitchen, a broken plate and two grilled cheese sandwiches laid.

Carefully, he tilted from the waist, peeking into the room.

A tall, lanky, guy was on the floor rubbing his elbows and lower back in turn with a grimace. When he realized Thorne was looking in, he glared.

"What were you doing just lurking there for?" He complained in a thick Scottish accent.

Thorne could _feel_ his eyes widen and jaw drop, "what the hell were you doing in my kitchen?"

The man struggled to his fee, "making grilled cheese," he brushed himself off, "what's it look like?"

Thorne sputtered, "wha...why?"

The stranger whipped his head back to get his bangs out of his eyes.

"Ethereal teleportation's not easy on an empty stomach," he gestured morosely to the broken plate, "so I was making you dinner before we took off."

As the man talked Thorne took him in. He was tall and slender, not lanky. A pretty, angular face with five o'clock shadow and topped with medium length, fluffy, light brownish/red hair. He had a touch of eyeliner, black nail polish, rings, bracelets, and sported torn black jeans, a stylishly torn tee with a raven on it, and topped with a red and black coat with gold buttons that reminded Thorn of a band major but hipper. A stylish, non-threatening, pretty boy that looked familiar and was probably high.

When he heard "take off" however, he immediately held up his hand, "woah, I'm not "taking off" with you. I have no idea who you are!" he glanced around the kitchen, eyes settling on the old rotary landline on the opposite side of the room next to a door that led outside. Keeping his eyes on the stranger, Thorne moved away from him and proceeded to go to the phone, "I'm calling the cops."

The man watched and _pouted_ of all things. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, deep and petulant and started to head over to the mess.

As Thorne picked up the receiver, watching the man's back as he bent to grab broken glass, he heard him say, "doesn't even remember me! Could've redone my entrance at least."

While that confused Thorne, he ignored him, stuck his finger into the first hole of the rotary and began dialing. The chink of glass could be heard.

He pressed the receiver to his ear.

The man was now throwing away the ruined sandwiches and plate. It took ten seconds before his distracted mind made a blood chilling realization.

There was silence.

He eyed the stranger who was now picking up the pan and spatula and bringing them to the sink and thought quick.

"This is Thorne Jamison...yeah, at the castle," he tried to keep his voice calm and friendly, give the impression that he knew the police personally. The man took out an empty box of rubber gloves out from underneath the sink and sighed before rolling up his own sleeves, turning on the water, and setting about cleaning.

  
"Yeah, there's a drug addict in my house," he had to resist smirking at the _"oi!"_ from said addict, "just broke in," he paused for an imaginary answer, "he's washing dishes," another pause, "no, not that I saw," another pause, "okay. Yeah. Alright see you soon."

The man was scrubbing the pan with a rag, concentrating on his task. He was rinsing the pan when he finally looked up to Thorne with a smile before finishing up with the spatula. Thorne waited, folding his arms over his chest.

Once he put the dishes in the strainer, he rinsed his hands and then took out small bottle of lotion from his pocket. He added a dollop to his palm, returned the bottle and proceeded to rub the lotion into his palms. Smelled like apples. He leaned back against the counter and caught Thorne's eye.

"Sorry, did you want some?" he gestured to his inner pocket.

Thorne shook his head, "do I...you need to leave. You heard me, the police will be here soon."

The man didn't seem concerned. In fact, he merely smiled, crossed his arms and said with a touch of amusement, "it's kind of funny. You're usually a great liar. You've lied all over the place. You _should_ be good at it. But you have a tell. I know for a fact," he pointed, "that phone's out."

Instinctively, Thorne's muscles tensed and he inched towards the door.

Instead of bluffing, his fear and anger took over, "how the fuck do you know that?"

The man shrugged, "ghostly interference."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Reaching behind himself he felt for the knob, watching the man. All he could think of was every horror movie he'd ever seen and how the first thing to go were the phones. That and maybe the stranger wasn't so harmless after all.

The man put his hand on his hips.

"Seriously? You still don't remember me?"

"I've never met you!"

The man gestured wide, holding his arms out like a magician presenting a trick, "it's me! Ghost of Christmas Present!" When Throne didn't respond, he rolled his eyes, "how can you forget a ghost! Caelan? I was in your hotel room?"

That made Thorne laugh despite himself.

"Have had a lot of people in my hotel rooms love," but then something fell into place, "wait...your the one that hid in my bathroom and jumped out at me."

"Yes! Well no. I wasn't hiding, I was going to make a grand entrance. Which you ruined," he grumbled.

Thorne couldn't believe his ears, " an entrance?" he echoed.

"Yeah, of course! I'm meant to take you on a deep, soul searching, journey. It deserves a little something special."

Clearly, this Caelan was something. He wasn't sure what, but either way, this was twice now he'd broken into where Thorne was and this time, it was his actual home. He snapped.

"You're a fucking loony!" He yelled, hand clenching around the knob. As he turned his body, preparing to yank the door open and flee into the night, or preferably go around the front of the castle, go inside, get to his room and call the police for real.

Damn it. Usually, living so far away from the town, from prying eyes and people was a blessing. Right now, Thorne would kill for a neighbor.

Suddenly, the dead bolt at the top of the door slid into the lock position with a clack. Thorne lept back. No one touched it. It shouldn't have done that.

He reached up, attempting to tug the bolt back.

"You're strong," Caelan said, "but that's not going to work." He tone was almost sympathetic.

"What did you do?" HE dropped his hand, trying to quell his panic. The last time Caelan left it was with no trouble. Now, he had no idea what to expect.

Caelan waved a hand over him, "well I couldn't let you go out into the cold like that. You don't even had pants on!"

Thorne was in a robe. A slinky, silk thing that went to his knees, and nothing else.

"Didn't think I'd need them," Thorne balled his fists.

Caelan gave a little tilt of his head, "I can wait for you to change," he offered as if he really expected Thorne to go with him, "I can gather some snacks while you're doing that."

At first Throne was going to protest, swear, demand that he get out of his house, until he realized he could get to his phone, lock himself in his room. All he had to do was play along.

He cleared his throat, "right," did his best to feign cool indifference, "I'll go...do that. And you," he gestured to the kitchen, "do this."

"Fantastic! Glad we got that sorted," Caelan promptly started to look through the fridge.

With steady, non-suspicious step, Thorne went up the little staircase and shut the door behind him. There was no lock but thinking quickly he snagged one of the heavy decorative chairs that lined the hall and dragged it in front of the door. The lunatic could still get out through the kitchen door but if he came this way to follow Thorne, it would buy him some time.

Then, he made his dash for his bedroom.

He took the grand stairs two at a time. Once upstairs he glanced at the light switch on the wall and kept it off.

It made it harder to see for him but this was his home. He knew the layout better. It would make him harder to find if Caelan had to stumble through the dark.

His bedroom was down to the left, hopefully Caelan would go right.


	3. I. Am. A. Ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the movie came out in 2004 the cellphone would have been a high quality phone...that probably flipped open and had buttons. That's what I'm giving him. A phone that was like my old phone.

When Thorne was inside his bedroom, he locked the door behind him and went to the night side table to snatch up his phone. It slipped it in grip at first, causing him to drop it to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, wiping his palms on his robe. He hadn't realized he was sweating. Fingers shaking, he flipped open the device and pushed each button harder than necessary.

He lifted it to his ear and let out a relieved sigh when when he heard the ring. There was the click of the receiver on the other end. As he opened his mouth to recant his situation to the real police he heard,

"Thorne? That you? Listen, you've got several chips in your cupboards. Do you prefer BBQ or Sour Cream?"  
  


With a shout, Thorne tossed the phone onto the bed, a tiny voice calling out his name from the speakers.

He went to his dresser and flung open the drawers, pulling on the first pair of jeans and tee shirt he could find. 

There was a knock at his door and a quiet, "Thorne? Are you decent?"

He nearly pissed himself. He was half tempted to hide in the closet but the psycho would find him there and he would have no where else to go. Then his eyes fell onto the window, the darkness outside.

There was no balcony, or small roof he could climb onto, but maybe if he really stretched his arms, he could make it to the next door window and get into the opposite room. It was a long shot but it was either that or under the bed or in the closet. None of the options were good.

He called, "uh, no...not yet. Just...trying to find some underwear," he gave a little strangled chuckle, "you know how that can be."  
  


"Well," he heard, "okay. Not to rush you, we've got a while, but the sooner you're ready the sooner this will be over," there was a pause, "might want to grab a jacket."

Careful to be quiet, Thorne did grab a jacket. A jean jacket kept more for nostalgia than it's functionality. Thin and patchy it would do. If he managed, somehow, to not plummet to his death, maybe make it outside, it was a long way back down to the town and he didn't want to freeze to death.

He went to the window, undid the latch, and went to pull it open. It did not budge.

"Shit."

"Window's locked."

"AH!" He whipped around to find Caelen standing there by the closed door, he never even heard it open, holding a reusable shopping bag full of stuff looted from his kitchen.

"Had the feeling you were trying to be sneaky," Caelan said, amused and chiding, "and you didn't tell me what kind of chips you liked so I grabbed them both," he lifted the bag an inch for emphasis.

"Did you pick the lock?" Thorne asked, heart going a mile a minute.

"No," Caelan rolled his eyes, "I don't _need_ to."

"Alright!" Thorne shouted, grabbing the lamp and holding it over his head, "get out of my house you fuck and take all your little magic trick with you!"

Rather than back down, get frightened, Caelan puffed up his chest and got frustrated, "you're _still_ not getting it?" he groaned. He put the bag down and gestured at himself like a magician putting on an act, "I," his voice clear and cutting, "am. a. ghost. The Ghost of Christmas Present. I've been sent here to help you become a better person. As you're not really all that bad, this won't be terrible. Promise! Just a quick little trip and bam, back here. Got it this time?" He waved his hand towards the closet and then eyed Thorne's outfit, "you sure you'll be warm enough? Don't even have shoes."

Thorne was reared his arm back, preparing to just toss the lamp at the other man and make a dash to escape when he noticed his closet was smoking. The white plumes slipped through the slats of the door.

"Fuck!" he momentarily forgot Caelan and tugged at his comforter until it came loose from the bed, "don't just stand there!" he shouted, "call the fire department!"

"Thorne wait, it's not..."

But Thorne didn't hear. He door the door open, held the blanket in front of him and through the fog he saw a small, yellowing light, most likely the flames. He lept, intending to snuff it out.

In the milky white void it was like being caught in electrified mist. Cool and tingling against his skin, making his hair stand up. He floated for a few brief moments, before landing flat on his stomach in the middle of a street.


	4. Go Find Someone to Talk to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the colder weather and upcoming holiday season, figured at least ONE update would be worth while for this ^^

Cold circled his bare feet, penetrated the patch work denim, as he laid belly down on the ground. The blanket absorbed some of the impact but his knees and palms ached.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back, briefly catching the cloudy night sky between two brick buildings. He sat up with a wince, prepared to take stock of where he was. He froze, staring bug eyed at a vaporous white portal hovering mid-air in front of him, from which Caelan emerged.

"Tried to warn you," he squatted down to Thorne's level, ignoring the stunned look on Thorne's face, "here, figured you'd want these," he dropped a pair of boots next to the rock star and straightened up. "Sorry I forgot socks but I figured you'd try to run so I rushed before you could."

As he spoke, the portal swirled and winked out of existence behind him. He began to rile through the tote he carried.

"Do you want a granola bar or chips?"

Thorne looked around himself, finding that he was in a moderately clean ally between old brick buildings. Music could be heard. Something familiar about that music but it was too distant to make it out properly.

He felt dizzy and it must've shown.

"Oh, oh dear," Caelan said and knelt back down, opening a granola bar and pressing it against Thorne's lips, "energy transference can effect a mortal body. It's not like a car ride or roller coaster, having something in your stomach helps. Gives you energy and the like. Open up."

Too overwhelmed and confused to do much else, Thorne opened his mouth and soon sticky chocolate chip slid over his tongue. He absently reached up to take the bar and began chewing and he tried to wrap his head around what just happened.

"What the fuck?" He asked, not even looking at the other. Just searching around himself, for a hint of anyone else he might be able to get the attention of.

"We've...teleported. Basically," Caelan took out a bag of chips for himself. The pop of the bag loud in the otherwise quiet space, as was his munching. "Now, time travel is not my strong suite, but I believe I landed in the right place. So you just finish your bar and pull on your boots and we'll be ready to go!" He said cheerily.

Dumbfounded and frightened, Thorne chewed slowly. He flinched, skin prickling from the cold and he quickly tugged his bare feet underneath him.

"This...this can't be happening. This makes no sense." He wrapped his arms around himself.

Caelan shrugged, plucking Thorne's wrapper from his fingers and his own bag and tucking them back into the tote, "sense or not, it's happening. Now, hurry and pull your shoes on so we can get this show on the road."

If it weren't for the simple fact that his feet were cold, and that he was going to make a run for it as soon as he saw his chance, he wouldn't have followed the other's orders. Begrudgingly, he tugged each boot on. 

"Vintage," Caelan admired, "nice."

Thorne kept his head down, "thanks." Of all the things he thought he would be doing, he didn't think being complimented on his fashion by a "ghost" was one of them.

Once he had them both on, taking his time about it, he stood up and stared blankly at the other. Hugging himself tight.

"Right, how about you take this," Caelan scooped up the blanket from the ground, "and wrap it around your shoulders until we're inside?" 

Thorne eyed it, the person offering it, before snatching it up and draping it over his head and wrapping himself tightly.

"Don't you look adorable! Like a wee little boy sneaking down to the tele after bedtime!" Caelan cooed loudly, causing Thorne to jump.

"I'm just cold! Don't got a hat, do I? No scarf. Just keeping warm!"

"Still adorable!" Caelan teased, "right," he pulled out his phone and checked something, "I believe it is...this way," he pointed and began marching towards the end of the ally, "this way!"

"Oi, I'm not following you!" Thorne yelled, "take me back right now! I don't know how you did...this!" he gestured helplessly around him, "but I don't want none of it! You take me back to my home right now!"

Caelan spun on his heel and rolled his eyes, "Thorne, we've been over this. You're my assignment. And the quicker you realize that if you just go along with it, you'll be back home in no time. Okay? Just a wee trip remember?" Caelan tried to sound sweet, coaxing, but there was an edge of impatience creeping in. 

"Why should I even cooperate?"

Caelan raised an eyebrow at the challenge, "because you already tried to escape and it failed?"

"What's to stop me from just...running right now. Finding someone and getting away from you?"

Caelan, for the first time in the entire night, actually looked mischievous. He grinned and opened his arms wide, "be my guest," he giggled, "clearly, it's not setting in for you yet. So, go on," he jerked his head, "find someone to talk to."


End file.
